The Clock Struck—
by Josephine Stone
Summary: Draco wants to give Harry the best birthday ever, if he could only figure out what that means.


**Prompt:** S22: The rain ruins Harry's birthday.  
**Prompt submitted by:** **marianna_merlo**  
**Beta:** **digthewriter**

* * *

"I want you to spend the night," you said. And it was definitely your phrasing that ensured it. If you had said, "Let's have sex," or "Let's go to my place," or even "I really want you," I'm not sure we would have gone quite as far as we did. But I loved the notion that the night was mine to spend, and I immediately decided to spend it with you." — David Levithan _The Lover's Dictionary_

#

Just before the owl arrived, Draco put the last vase of flowers on the dining room table. He looked around the expertly decorated living room and dinning room area giving himself a mental pat on the back for its perfection. An achievement only _he_ could produce with mementoes laced with memories from his and Harry's first six months together. The sun shone bright through the window, lighting up the fairy dust on the ribbons and making the flowers look at home.

It would be Harry's best birthday yet.

Yet, not ever, because Draco planned on upping himself each and every year.

Which was why the short note written in his own hand writing might have made him cry, if he were the emotional sort. Heart-shattering, gut-wrenching truth—he was the expert at dishing out—spat in his face and on all his hard selfless work.

_How thick are you? None of this is for Harry—it's all for you. He wouldn't even know about the significance of the flowers, because you never told him about it! Get rid of everything, before he comes home._

There was nothing for it. Harry would be home any moment, he pulled out his wand and in one quick movement all the gifts he took care to unwrap and place gently about the room wrapped themselves back up and hopped into the bags he brought them in with. He gathered them up, pulled out his beautiful—crafted in silver—Time Turner, and spun the dial taking him back to that morning just after he had left the house. He saw himself disappear in the fireplace just as he got there. He gave himself a moment's head start and entered the fireplace—he'd remembered the first stop was his quickest.

Draco waited in the alley for himself to leave the Delacour's Emporium, and walked up to the counter placing the biggest bag there. 'I'd like to return these.' Draco looked down at the beautiful decorations sadly.

The shopkeeper stared at him with wide eyes.

'I realised as soon as I left that he hates it when I make a big deal about his birthday—decorations would be too much.'

'Yes, of course, Mr Malfoy. That would be no trouble.' Confusion still evident on the shopkeeper's face. He watched the man take back the crystal twinkling lights, the green ribbons, silver bows, and almost stopped him as he rang up the floating candles.

#

Draco spent much of his time in the Great Hall staring at the floating candles. It was a far better option than looking around him at the people who glared at him for daring to return, or worse the ones who pretended he wasn't there at all. They were beautiful and when he watched them he could pretend that nothing had changed at all, that it was still his third or fourth year and there was no war.

'Malfoy?' Potter stood behind him and off to his left side, but continued his steady, slow pace—which was more a shuffling of his feet really—toward him. 'You al'right?' Potter gestured around them. 'It's time to go.'

He looked around to see that almost everyone had left the Great Hall; he wanted to lie, to say he didn't have a class right then, to tell Potter to shove off, but they had that morning's class together. So he decided to say he was fine, he'd be on in a minute, go on without him, but he found himself mute. They hadn't said a word to each other since the battle on those same grounds. Draco hadn't said much to anyone since.

'Come on, I'll walk with you.'

Draco lost all feeling in his limbs as Potter held out a hand toward him to—what? Help him up? No, it turned out to be for Draco's book. He had dropped the one he'd been reading sometime either while watching the candles and Potter talking to him. Draco stood as Potter did with his book and nodded to him when he handed it over.

Draco had no idea how to react to Potter walking with him to class, and neither did anyone they passed on the way.

They didn't say a word to each other.

And it wasn't the first time, Draco had wished he could turn back time. It was, however, the first time he decided to find a way to do it.

All the Time Turners might have been destroyed, but _someone_ invented them and made them before. It was possible, and Draco began his research straight away. Afterall, he wasn't a stranger to doing the impossible. He got Death Eaters into Hogwarts. He fixed a magical cabinet without any previous instruction on such things. He figured out the Room of Requirement all by himself. He was familiar with doing the impossible.

During his research, the first thing he learned is that he couldn't go back and give his younger self advice, partly because it was dangerous, but mostly because he already knew he had never done such a thing as it hadn't already happened.

But learning that, he told himself, saved him time as he knew not to attempt to make a Time Turner that took him back years, and the smaller increment of time he needed to travel the easier the experimentation process would be. He chose hours because minutes would not be enough and days too much.

He knew he'd succeed when he got his first note: Say yes!

#

The next shopkeeper was just as surprised at Draco reappearance mere moments after he'd left as the first one, but he was not as nice about the return. Of course, specifically tailored clothes were more difficult to resell. Harry and Draco were near the same size, but near was not close enough and he was near tears himself as he let the shopkeeper take back the gorgeous green sweater. He'd taken such care to pick it out, from what it was made of to the color, to the precised measurements.

'Weren't you wearing blue, when you left here before?'

'Yes, I changed.'

'Change your mind that often, do you?'

'I just want everything to be perfect,' Draco said.

'There's no such thing as perfect, love.' A portly older witch was behind him, whom he hadn't seen before. 'They were lovely clothes, I'm sure he'd like them.'

'Honestly, he hates clothes.' Draco blushed and look away from the knowing grin she gave him. 'I mean—fashion and dressy clothes. He's more of jeans and t-shirt sort of bloke. I tend to buy things I like when I don't know what to buy, and he is exceedingly difficult to shop for. He never wants anything.'

'Perhaps,' she said, while she looked Draco up and down, 'he already has everything he wants.'

#

Since the war, Draco had no intention of going out on a Hogsmeade weekend. It was too open and too dangerous. He sat in the library reading, safe under the watchful eye of Madam Pince. Until there was Potter and his shuffling feet again. He was mumbling something about the next day, and the weekend; and would he—Draco—like to go with him—Potter—to _The Three Broomsticks_ or which ever place he—Draco—felt the most comfortable; and Draco's pulse screamed. 'No, no, no, no, no, don't you dare;' yet his brain said, 'The note said say yes;' and so his mouth did.

They were to meet at noon, so naturally, Draco got up at nine to prepare.

'Draco,' Blaise said. 'It's fine. You look the same in everything you wear. He's not going to notice your outfit anyway, this is Potter. Besides, he'd just being courteous, it isn't a date. Granger has been talking constantly about working together to move past the past. Mind, I agree with her and not just because it benefits me—are you even listening to me?'

'I think the black washes me out.'

'Unbelieveable.'

'I need an opinion here, Blaise.' What if Draco _wanted_ it to be a date? Could he turn it into a date? Just then Draco's owl flew in the window and dropped a note on his bed. He glared at Blaise for being unhelpful as Blaise rolled his eyes and left without him. Ponce was supposed to walk him down to meet Potter. It's fine he'd walk down by himself. He wasn't frightened.

The note read: wear the green.

#

The old witch caught him outside the shop. 'Come on, love, what else are you returning?'

Draco opened the box to show her the beautifully magic-crafted antique pocket watch.

'Now, that's a thing of beauty, it is. Why don't you think he'll like it?'

'It's a reference to our relationship that he probably won't understand, and when he doesn't, I'll get upset. Then, he'll pressure me to explain, and then when I do explain-I'll sound crazy.'

She gave him a look as though to question whether he might actually be crazy.

'I'm not crazy. I just wanted everything—'

'To be perfect. It's a common desire.' She nodded to a tea shop. 'Join me for some tea, love?'

Draco watched himself leave the watchmakers and turn the corner on the way to the florist. He had some time for tea—he needed to think about what he would get Harry once he returned the watch.

#

Without his studying pocket watches, Draco never would have figured out how to craft his own Time Turner—as vastly different as they looked the crafting was similar. He wore it always, and kept fidgeting with the chain as he sat with Potter in _The Three Broomsticks_. Potter was fidgeting a lot too.

'Blaise said you're doing this for Granger?' Draco tried to keep his tone casual and not sound the least bit bothered by the information.

'Doing what?'

'Being friends with me.'

'Friends?'

Draco worried that calling them friends was a bit too forward; they still hadn't managed to say very much to each other.

'Oh, yes, right, _friends_, because—' Potter couldn't even bring himself to say it and simply gestured around them. No, they weren't in Madam Puddifoot's, but Potter's reaction satisfied Draco that it had been intended as a date. There was no other explanation for Potter's obvious nervous state. He only wished the knowledge would calm his own.

Conversation was even more difficult with everyone around them staring at them with their mouths slightly ajar. 'Potter, why don't we go someplace more—' Draco thought about the best way to put it without scarring Potter off. Comfortable. Private. Secluded. They all sounded like an invitation back to his bed, but that could have been his own thoughts getting in the way. Fuck it. 'Alone.'

Potter's eyes shot up and met Draco's, but he didn't look scared at all. More like excited.

Without answer, Potter stood, Draco joined him, and they ran back to Hogwarts. One not really leading the other, but getting as far away from the stares as possible. Until they reached the Clock Tower and had no other place to run.

Somewhere along the way, Draco couldn't remember where, Potter grabbed his hand. He held it as they stood behind the clock. Draco let him. Harry must have taken that as a good sign, because he kissed him. The clock struck, sending sound waves vibrating through them.

#

Draco thought about the witch's advice: If he isn't fond of material things, then give him more of you; your time, your attention, your—Well, he got the idea.

After he took the watch back to the shop...(Whose shopkeeper was the most rude about it, really. It's not like it was custom made. Honestly, as though no one ever changed their minds about a gift before. And what exactly was wrong with changing his clothes a few times a day? It was an important day. He needed to look nice!) He still wanted to do something special for Harry.

He passed the grocer's, and he got the perfect idea. His other self was at home, but he knew he hadn't entered the kitchen all day. Draco decided to keep the flowers. He ran to the nearest bookshop and found a cookbook and quickly planned out the menu for Harry's impromptu birthday supper. Draco found all the ingredients he needed, popped home, wrote a quick note to himself—blunt and truthful, of course, he already knew the words—who was looking rather pleased with himself in the living room, and took it all back in time a few hours.

He listened for his feet on the stairs and silenced the kitchen door and walls, then opened the cookbook. It had simple instructions. He nodded to himself. It would be a piece of cake.

Three hours later, he was covered in flour and had gritty sugar all through his hair. The cake, burnt with the icing melted off it, was rotting on the table. The chicken was raw and burnt around the edges at the same time, while the vegetables were brown and mushy—except the onions which were still hard. At that moment, Draco swore he'd never, ever cook anything, ever again.

The clock struck eleven and he sent spells around the kitchen to clean up the mess. What had he been thinking? He had no idea what he was doing. What _had_ Harry ever even seen in him?

#

Draco was surprised he hadn't thought of it right away. Instead of sleeping, studying, or reading the extra hours he went back in time, he began to spy on Harry and his friends. Relationships were fragile things. He had no idea _why_ Potter was interested in him, and he wanted to make sure he got everything right, everything perfect. He needed to know more about him.

'I still don't understand it, Hermione.'

He couldn't help but agree with the Weasel, and he should probably stop calling him that.

'You don't need to.' She flipped a page in the book she was reading. 'Besides, you know what they say there's a thin line between love and hate.'

Weasely mulled that over for a bit. 'That's different though. That's like Malfoy tormenting him, because he was jealous. I get that and that Malfoy would like Harry, but I don't get the other way around.'

'It's a two way street, Ron.'

'What?'

Granger sighed and closed her book. 'You know how Draco called me a Mudblood and it never bothered me? Well, not that it didn't bother me at all. It bothered me that a lot of people didn't feel I belonged here, and it did make me feel like I needed to prove myself. But it didn't bother me that _Draco_ thought those things or felt that way, because I simply never cared what he thought of me. So when he called me a Mudblood, I never cried. However, when you called me annoying—'

'I'm sorry.'

'It was a long time ago.'

'I'm _still_ sorry, and it still doesn't make any bloody sense—they're both mental. Why not just be honest about how they felt and be nice to each other?'

'Like when you called me annoying?'

'That's different.'

'Or complained about me for years, fought with me for years, called me a trap because I went to a dance that everyone else including you went to, said my boyfriend was using me.' Hermione smiled at him and gave him a kiss calming his sputtering denials. 'I forgave you a long time ago. We fight with the people we love, Ron. You don't fight with people you don't care about. Though Harry never cried, it was still obvious that he cared.'

#

The kitchen finished cleaning itself and Draco watched himself disappear from the living room, as he entered it. Harry would be home any minute. He'd be there any minute, and Draco had nothing for him. _Give him a part of you, your time, your attention, your—_ Draco had another brilliant idea. He jumped up and wrote a quick note, spelled it to float in front of the door and then ran upstairs to change.

#

'Draco?' Granger stood over him with her hands on her hips. 'What are you doing? Were you spying on us?'

Draco tried to think up some excuse, but before he could answer Harry joined them. Shite, he must have just got back. How could he explain leaving Harry in the hall and then suddenly being in the room hiding behind the sofa his friends were chatting at? Harry's confused look turned—without any reason Draco could see—into a grin.

Harry grabbed Draco. He nodded and said goodnight to his friends and then ran up the stairs pulling Draco behind him. 'Some days, I just can't believe my luck,' Harry said just what Draco was thinking, but his tone was much different than one inside Draco's head. 'The moment you left I wished you'd hadn't and here you never left at all, but just snuck in to see me in my dorm.' Harry kissed him, walking him backwards to the bed, and then crawling up on it pushing Draco farther until he hit the headboard.

Perhaps some of Harry's luck was rubbing off on him.

As they kissed, Draco wrapped his legs around Harry's waist pulling him closer with his ankles. Harry's request of, 'Spend the night with me?' was disjointed and muffled from their kissing taking priority over talking, thinking and breathing. So was Draco's response of, 'Yes, of cour—'

#

Draco was sitting on a bench checking the time every few seconds, and then giving up and staring at it. It wasn't unheard of for Harry to be home late from training. But on his birthday of all days? He squinted against the setting sun, as a figure walked toward him. As the figure came closer, he saw it carried a broom and then he was sure it was Harry.

'Sorry, I'm late.' Harry kissed him hello. 'I stopped by Diagon Alley on my way home...' Harry pulled out a box with the watchmaker's emblem on it, and chills ran through Draco as he took the box.

'You got me a gift on _your_ birthday?'

'I like buying you things. I like seeing that look on your face.'

'What look?'

'The one you had a moment ago, when I handed you the box. Ron is always so self-conscious about how much people spend on him, and I've never been good at picking out gifts for Hermione. But you light up just from seeing a box meant for you. I don't think you even care what's inside of it—just that someone thought of you.'

Draco still in awe slipped the lid of the box.

'It's the same look you had when you got packages from your mother at Hogwarts. Even when they came everyday, it never lessened the excitement for you.'

It was the same watch Draco had bought and returned a few hours before.

'You're always tinkering with spare watch parts...and we did have our first kiss in a clock tower. Oh, and you'll never guess what I found as I was leaving.'

He looked up at Harry.

'These tailor made clothes were 30% off because someone changed their mind, and they were close to my measurements so I tried them on—it was like they were made for me. There is a green sweater that matches my eyes perfectly. It's too warm to wear right now, or I would have brought it to show you. It's from your favorite tailor, so I'm sure you'll love them.'

Draco kissed him and then finally found words. 'I do love a well dressed man.'

'I loved the flowers by the way—do you remember the time we were messing around by the greenhouse and destroyed a bed of them?'

'I remember.'

Harry laughed. 'Now, what are the terms for this seeker match you promised me?'

It rained. Not a mist or a light sprinkle. It poured down rain. Within seconds they were soaked. And Harry would not stop laughing.

'What's so funny, Potter?'

'Some days I _do_ wish some of my good luck would rub off on you.'

#

_Give him more of you._

Draco looked around them. They were in a magical area and no one was around. It's as safe as it ever would be. He pulled out his Time Turner. Potter stopped laughing the moment he saw it. He took the chain and flung it over Harry's neck. Two turns would do it.

The rain was gone, but they were dripping wet.

Harry's mouth opened as though at a loss for words as he looked around them and then back at the Time Turner in Draco's hand. 'But, they were all destroyed.' He furrowed his brows, watching Draco.

'I made this one.'

'When?'

The few people that were about took no notice of them.

'I used to constantly wish I could take back the last few minutes, every time I had a conversation with you. I thought if I took what I knew after the conversation, then I could go back in time and stop myself from saying the wrong thing to begin with. So I tinkered with watches, because I was making this. I've used it since our first date.'

Harry bit his lip, but couldn't stop himself from smiling. 'You know, I fancied you for months prior to our first date.'

'You're not angry?'

'That you gave yourself advice? Draco, most people call that thinking before you speak. That you went through the trouble of making a Time Turner, so that you think before you spoke to me is just—bloody brilliant.'

Draco began a tirade, but Harry kissed him and Draco decided that was a much better way to spend their time.

'So, how long do we have before it rains?'


End file.
